Classic Poem

Pillowed on a couch of down,
Sunk in sleep the maid reposes;
Still and smooth the lashes brown—
On the cheek the hue of roses.

By the bedside glowing stand,
In a cup, for evening hours,
Gathered by the fair one's hand,
Fragrant, brilliant, fresh-plucked flowers.

Through the dim and silent room
Stifling sultriness is brooding,
Sickening grows the dense perfume,
Windows closed night's cool excluding.

Soft and silent tick the hours:
Softly! hark! a gentle rustling!
In the leaves and in the flowers
Lively buzzing now and bustling.

From the flower-cups forth there steals
Many a sprite, so gay and airy;
Dressed in gauzy mist, with shields,
Spears and crowns, come elf and fairy.

From the Rose's purple bosom
Steps a slender dame to view;
Loosely float her waving tresses,
Pearls are glistening there like dew.

From the Monk-hood's helmet starting,
Boldly comes a nimble knight;
Sword and casque are fiercely darting
Through the leaves refulgent light.

Nods the Heron's graceful feather
On his cap in silvery whiteness;
From the Lily glides a maiden,
With a veil of cobweb lightness.

From the Turk's-head-cup, in gleaming,
Warlike pomp, a negro marches;
On his turban green a beaming
Crescent moon, all golden, arches.

From the Crown Imperial's hollow
Boldly stalks a sceptre-bearer;
From the azure Iris follow
Many a huntsman and sword-wearer.

From the leaves of the Narcissus
Lo, a dark-eyed boy is stealing,
To the bed-side goes, with kisses
Hot the maiden's lips is sealing.

But the others, whirling, swinging
Round the bed-side chant wild numbers,
Round and round still swinging, singing
Through the maiden's dreamy slumbers:

‘Cruel maiden! thou hast torn us
From the mother that did cherish—
To thy stifling chamber borne us
There to pine and fade and perish!

‘Blissful rest that we were taking
On her lap in shady bowers,
Where hot sunbeams kissed us, breaking
Through green twigs in noontide hours!

‘Where Spring breezes fanned us lightly,
As they passed, our slight stems bending,
Where, as elves, we sported nightly
From our leafy house ascending.

‘Now in this dark pool we languish,
Robbed of glistening dew and showers,
Yet shalt thou, in our last anguish
Feel the vengeance of the flowers!’

Hushed the song; the elves and spirits
Bend them towards the slumb'ring fair:
Reigns once more the old dull silence,
Ghostly whisperings fill the air.

What a bustling, what a buzzing!
How the maiden's cheeks are glowing!
How the spirits breathe upon her!
How the perfume-streams are flowing!

Morning dawns: the spirits vanish;
Flings the sun a hue of roses
Where the loveliest of corpses
On the pillow, cold, reposes.

With her sisters pale she slumbers,
Waiting for her native bowers,
She herself a withered flower
Dying of the scent of flowers!